


night terrors

by kyrilu



Category: The Tick (TV 2017)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:53:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28310460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrilu/pseuds/kyrilu
Summary: Arthur has a nightmare.
Relationships: Arthur Everest/The Tick (The Tick)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 23
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	night terrors

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lonelywalker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelywalker/gifts).



The Tick is in the middle of watching a documentary about fascinating marine mammals when Arthur bursts out of the bedroom, his hair tousled and his eyes bleary. 

“Shit,” Arthur mutters, stumbling into the living room. 

“Hey, Arthur,” the Tick says, cheerily, from his usual spot on the couch. “Did you know that whales are the largest animals to have ever lived on earth? Even larger than the dinosaurs. Of course, I’m sure our former VLM buddy might have been bigger.” 

“Uh, yeah, that’s great, Tick,” his friend says, rubbing his forehead. “Sorry, need to grab a glass of water.” 

The Tick makes a noise of acknowledgement, and Arthur begins to rustle around in the kitchen. Glass clinking, the faucet running, and then some noisy gulps. 

Arthur’s taking slow, careful breaths. The Tick pulls his attention away from leaping dolphins. “Are you okay, chum? You sound as winded as a champion marathon runner.” 

“It’s nothing.” Arthur sets the glass down on the counter. “Had a stupid nightmare, that’s all.” He sighs, and he moves to join the Tick on the couch. “You’d think that I’d already be over it. I mean, the Terror’s a popsicle now. But he’s still… here. In my head.” 

“Night Terrors?” the Tick says, emphasizing the capital T. 

“Night Terrors,” Arthur agrees.

The Tick pauses for a second in thought. He doesn’t know the remedy for nightmares. Come to think of it, he doesn’t think he remembers ever having one himself, but then, the Tick never does remember much. 

“Well,” the Tick suggests, “maybe you can vanquish him in your dreams like you did in reality. Imagine taking him on with all your courage and might.” 

“I wasn’t _that_ courageous or mighty,” Arthur says, scrunching up his face. “And besides, I’m new to this hero stuff. It’s weird to wrap my brain around it after all these years.” 

The Tick frowns. “Don’t talk down about yourself, Arthur. You just have to wait for your dream-brain to catch up with the times. You’ve overcome the first hurdle of Destiny -- cleared it with a spring in your step and wings on your back -- and it’s time for the next one. It could be a mountain, or a molehill, or mountainous molehill, but whatever it is, it’ll be easier since you’ve made it the first time around.” 

The blue hue of the ocean on the TV screen illuminates Arthur’s face in the night, his glasses glinting. Arthur's gaze is tired but earnest, radiating a soft fondness when the Tick finishes speaking. 

“I hope so. Thanks for the pep talk, Tick.“ Arthur sighs. “I’m kind of jealous of _your_ brain. I know it sucks not knowing where you came from, but it isn’t like you have memories of…your dad getting squished right in front of you that constantly haunts your nightmares.” 

To be honest, the Tick thinks, the lack of an origin story is a huge characterization deficit on his part. If he could, he would compose a letter to the writers of this narrative, pointedly questioning them about their choices. 

Whither are the freak lab accidents and powerful mythological gods? The magical artifacts, the time travel machines, the genetic mutations, and ancient warrior societies? Or even a tragedy like Arthur’s? 

The Tick puts a hand under his chin. “You have suffered deeply, my friend. But remember that it’s your origin story and it made you. Not just the bad parts, but the good parts, too. You had your dad who loved you when he was alive, and you have your new dad who loves you, too.”

“Stepdad,” Arthur says, automatically, and winces. 

“You have your mother, our brave Dot, and all our friends and allies,” the Tick presses on, “and you have me, too.” He admits, frankly: “I don’t know who I’d be without you, Arthur. As far as I know, you’re my origin story.” 

Arthur looks taken aback, his face flushed. “I thought Destiny’s the one behind this, and we crossed over. We’ll find your origin story eventually, Tick.” 

“Maybe, but for now, you’re all that I’ve got,” the Tick says, solemnly.

He tries to find the right words to say next. It can be difficult -- Arthur’s the hero with the gears and the levers, the rigor and resolve -- and the Tick’s the hero with the strength and the swagger. There are pieces missing that he doesn’t know he’s missing, and he hopes that it’ll be enough to have somebody he can beat the bad guys with and sit next to and smile with. 

“Sometimes,” he says, “I think I feel something that feels like Destiny, but it isn’t Destiny. It feels _greater_ than Destiny, which should be impossible because isn’t that the hand that guides our lives and fates? Didn’t She set all this in motion?”

“Tick,” Arthur starts.

“Hang on. Let me finish.” The Tick says, “It’s as if my heart is growing out of my chest like another antenna. It happens when you’re glum like this, and I wish I could make you smile instead. Or when you’re happy with me, and I want the moment to never end.” 

He had consulted Dot about the tightness in his chest: _Am I dying?_ And she’d stared at him with wide eyes, and said, _Tick, you’re not dying. It sounds like you have, well, a crush._

 _Excuse me,_ he said, affronted. _I have crushed nobody. I’m in control of my own physique._

 _Oh my god,_ she said. _You’ll figure it out._ He’ll _figure it out._ _It’s okay, Tick._

It had taken him a while. After some significant reflection, he thinks he knows the name of that thing, that thing greater than Destiny. 

“I don’t know how to make your nightmares stop, chum,” he admits. “But you should know that I love you very much, and I have faith that you’re stronger than your fears and your doubts.”

Arthur lets out a sharp breath. “Um,” he says. “I-- holy crap. Tick, is this like, uh, friend love, because --” 

“ _In_ love,” the Tick says. “ _Love_ love. There are many new concepts that I'm still learning, but I think this is the one that fits. Like a good pair of cozy pajamas.” 

“Like, um, physical--” 

“Like a pioneering mountaineer, I want to climb that Mount Everest.” 

Arthur chokes. “Got it. I get the picture.” He swallows, the line of his throat bobbing. His eyes sweep over the Tick's face, darting fast, and the Tick’s antennae twitch in a bout of unexpected nervousness. 

“I think,” Arthur says, finally, “me, too?” Then, more certainly: “Me, too.” 

“Oh,” the Tick says, and he beams. “Great!" 

“I mean,” Arthur says, “I’m still awkward at all of this. Superheroing and figuring out my life. But you being here -- it’s helped and made a difference. I think we’re getting there. We can start slow. Small.” 

And he smiles, and he reaches for the Tick’s hand in the dark. His hand is smaller than the Tick’s, that blue-clad and villain-striking weapon, but they wrap around each other as if they’ve always belonged together. 

The documentary continues on, otters splashing in the water. Arthur’s eyes flutter, then close, and his head falls against the Tick’s shoulder. He has a dream about flying. 


End file.
